


Sleep

by cauldronborn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27759613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cauldronborn/pseuds/cauldronborn
Summary: You’ve been having difficulty getting to sleep, and it’s distressing you. Castiel wants to help.
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 62





	Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> i used to be able to sleep at the drop of a hat, and enjoyed going to bed. now i’m an insomniac and have severe anxiety surrounding bedtime. this is an attempt to self-soothe, but i figured i’d post it - i hope you guys will like it too.
> 
> this is chock full of fluff and tenderness, but is not necessarily romantic! here’s a warning for mentions of anxiety and descriptions of a panic attack. i'm open to requests and love hearing feedback. be safe, and happy reading!

It’s been weeks since you’ve gotten a decent night’s sleep.

Your exhaustion has crept into your bones. The second your head hits the pillow, it swims with unwanted thoughts; fright sends tremors through your body and leaves you breathless, with tears stinging at your eyes. In the quiet of the bunker at night, you feel like your sobs will be deafening - so you bury your face into your pillow and pray for it to leave you alone, just for one night, please.

A reprieve hasn’t come yet. You doubt tonight will be any different.

“You okay?” Sam quirks a brow at you as you fish the chamomile teabag out of your mug and dump it into the trash. For all the cups of this you’ve chugged, you haven’t been noticing anything akin to improvement. “You seem a little tired.”

“I’m okay,” You offer a smile that only stretches half-way across your lips.

“Okay, well…” He folds his arms across his chest. The sympathy in his expression makes your heart lurch - it’s unnecessary. You’re being a big baby. The thought of confessing what is going on to him is embarrassing at best. “You know you can talk to us, right? If something’s going on?”

“Yeah, of course.” You pat his shoulder as you speak. “Thank you.”

You don’t know how you would ever explain how leaving them at the end of the night makes you feel. They are ever-present in their respective rooms, within walking distance, and yet being alone in your own space still fills you with dread. It’s cloying. Listening to music, watching videos, letting YouTube run in the background - it offers a reprieve, but does not stop the inevitable anxiety from creeping in.

It’s a cold night, and the chill is already making your hair stand on end, as you loiter in your room with your teeth brushed and your pyjamas on. Your fingers shake when you reach for your duvet to turn it back. This very act of getting into bed takes bravery, and that frustrates you; your throat grows tight.

Then, a knock at the door. You flinch.

“Yeah, come in,” You manage to say, somehow. By the time you’ve turned around, your guest has let themselves in. “Castiel.”

Cas is a welcome presence under normal circumstances, but even the weight of his stare feels unbearable, as tired as you are. What’s worse is that he always appears to be scrutinising - it is not his intention, but you can’t shake the sensation of judgement, like he is gazing straight into your soul.

“Hello. Sam asked me to look in on you,” He says, and then takes pause. “You seem upset.”

“No, no, I’m just… sleepy,” You give a half-hearted laugh. “So, what can I do for you?”

“You’re lying,” Cas states. 

You swallow thickly. Of course, he knows, but even if he wasn’t a being of ancient wisdom, it wouldn’t have been difficult to guess. In an attempt to cover your tracks, you shake your head and grin, even as your eyes start to water.

“I’m fine, Cas,” You say. Your whole body is trembling when you sit down on the edge of your bed; your heart is hammering, and no amount of fakery can disguise the tension in your posture. “You should go and rest.”

“I won’t rest well if I leave you unhappy,” The angel replies.

Why does he have to do everything in earnest? Something about the simple honesty of his statement destroys the last modicum of defence in your mind, and you sob as you crumple in on yourself, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. You can’t bear it. All of this concern over a problem invented in your own head, when there are people dying in the world, people suffering with real issues–

There’s a cautious, hesitant touch around your shoulders. Castiel is warm and solid where he comes to sit at your side, and you’re helpless to your body’s impulse to lean into him, grasping at his coat’s lapels. 

“You are troubled,” He murmurs. You cling to the rasping depth of his voice like a port in a storm. “I want to help, if I can.”

It’s difficult to know where to begin. For the moment, the only thing you can do is cry, but he doesn’t begrudge you this - he stays, encouraged by your reaction to draw his arms tighter around you. Your tumultuous mind quietens.

“It never stops, Cas. My mind, it– it never stops,” You sniffle, when the words come to you at last. “When I try to rest… there’s so many thoughts, and I know it isn’t real–”

“What do you mean, it isn’t real?” Cas asks.

“It’s not– it’s not a real problem, i-it’s just me inventing things, and I get so scared–”

“It is true that nothing bad is happening, but that doesn’t mean that your feelings are not real.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You find the courage to look up at him, for the first time since this meltdown began - his typically stern expression has softened, lightened, and something akin to encouragement glints in his wonderfully blue eyes.

“Come, lay down,” Cas coaxes you upright so he can settle against the pillows. One hand pats his thigh, and you blink, unsure. “If you’re comfortable with this, of course.”

“Comfortable with what…?” Even as you say it, you’re shifting to lay your head on him. When you’re prone, he pulls the covers up and over you, tucking them over your shoulders with every care.

“I would like to stay with you, and watch over you,” The angel explains. His fingers begin to gently card through your hair; you sigh, eyelids fluttering, as your tears begin to slow. “Perhaps that will help you rest.”

“You’re a creep,” You tease. The indignant look he shoots at you is worth it. “I’m kidding. Thanks, Cas. I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing to forgive. Now, try and sleep.”

Each stroke against your scalp slows your racing heart. For the first time in weeks, drowsiness sets in without aftershocks.


End file.
